The Happy Land.
There is a land beyond the sky,
Where all is fair and bright,
No tear there dims the sparkling eye,
No cloud obscures the light.
There, in those bright elysian fields,
Bloom flow'rs that never fade;
And seraphs tune their golden harps,
In spotless robes arrayed.
Devotion.
Tempted, my cottage home to leave,
I wandered forth one dewy eve,
When all was hushed and still;
Save the low music of the breeze,
That murmur'd through the leafy trees,
And gushing of the rill.
An unfrequented path I took,
That led to a sequester'd nook--
That 'neath the moon's pale beams,
Seemed like some spirit-haunted dell,
Where those light, airy phantoms dwell,
That visit us in dreams.
The sweet flowers, bathed in pearly dew,
Half veil'd their glowing charms from view
And drooped their lowly heads;
While out, upon the evening air,
A grateful incense, rich and rare,
Stole up from their low beds.
The green trees seemed to tower on high,
And mingle with the deep blue sky;
While in the moon's soft light,
The noiseless shadows came and went,
Waver'd and glanced, and graceful bent,
Like champions in fight.
There was a little, fragrant bower,
That nature, in some sportive hour,
Had gracefully arrayed;
And overgrown with creeping vines,
Their tendrils with the green bows twined,
Formed an imperious shade.
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